Page 108 of The Nanny Goal

Rusty’s eyes narrow. “Emery’s a grown-up. As long as she’s happy, I’m not going to say anything to anyone. You treating her right?”

I think about the way her pussy clenches around my tongue when she comes. “Of course.”

“You taking care of her while you’re away?”

I hesitate a beat too long. I don’t think he means phone sex.

Marsh groans and shakes his head. “Bud, you gotta send her stuff.”

Dodaj unbuckles and stands up, too, fully invested in this conversation. “What do you mean?”

From across the aisle, Jenson says, “I like to send Ani a new book every week.”

Ty gives him a high-five. “That’s a good one. Do you pick them or does she have a wish list?”

“Little bit of both.”

“Flowers are good, too,” Marsh says.

“Chocolate. You can’t go wrong with chocolate,” Russ says.

That’s actually a great idea. I’ll find some amazing, weird, foodie chocolates for Emery. “Yeah, okay.”

“Whatever she’s into. And like, make her life easy.” Jenson shrugs. “Ani’s getting pretty uncomfortable in her pregnancy, so I increased the number of times a week our house cleaner comes.”

Fuck.

Right.

I could hire more people to do the things that Emery is helping with.

And then Ty gives us all a sly wink. “And of course, you can take care of her from afar. Make sure you get quality phone time, you know? Don’t short change that connection.”

Well, I’m relieved to find out that my phone sex instincts weren’t completely off. And I can totally do that.

To his credit, Russ doesn’t even wince. He doesn’t change the subject, either. He keeps his eyes on me, like he’s tracking whether or not I’m taking notes.

Be mindful of what she needs. Check.

Give her attention. Check.

And firm up what the fuck we are doing before her brothers find out. Triple. Check.

CHAPTER34

EMERY

The day after Alexei leaves, Inessa has bounced back to health, so I invite Becca and Shannon over for dinner.

I’m in the middle of making a yuzu shaved ice for dessert that I think might be nice for Ani’s baby shower, but need to practice a few times, when the doorbell rings.

Sergei comes up the stairs from the basement to answer it, and from what I can hear, it sounds like a delivery.

“It’s for you,” he says when he comes back to the kitchen.

I raise my eyebrows and accept the rectangular package. Sure enough, it has my name on it.

Inside, I find a food memoir,Koshersoulby Michael W. Twitty. A piece of paper flutters out with it, a printed gift receipt. There’s a typed message in the note space:

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